


Hell Hath No Fury

by ficklescribbler



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers Series - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Awesome Aramis, Captain Tréville is amazing, Dramatic, Duelling, Gen, Hurt Athos, Pre-Series, Somewhat more "book" than "series", it's all too much for Aramis, this tagging thing is difficult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-01-24 09:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21335836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficklescribbler/pseuds/ficklescribbler
Summary: ... like Captain Tréville when one of his men comes to harm.When a duel with the Red Guards gets out of hand, the Inseparables find themselves in a very tough spot. Pre-series, and pre-book in part.
Comments: 45
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick story that wrote itself in half a day - three or four chapters, and (perhaps) an epilogue. A pre-series, adapted re-working (!) of one of the earliest scenes in _The Three Musketeers_: if you've ever picked up the book, you'll quickly recognize which one.  
Everything recognizable here is somebody else's; I only own the wording order and the enjoyment I got out of it. Hopefully it's an enjoyable read as well.  


Trust the Red Guards to bring guns to a swordfight.

Never mind that each of the three Inseperables was armed to boot as well. Currently, the duellers had entrusted their firearms to their seconds, both for practicality and to respect the codes of chivalry; for Athos, this was Aramis, who, from the sidelines, was observing the proceedings keenly. That Porthos was also there was merely a matter of being inseparable.

Even as Aramis watched, Athos shifted his weight minutely from one foot to the other, barely a hair out of place as he waited for his _second_ opponent to attack. His first opponent, a Red Guard named Jussac, was already sprawled on the ground, his rapier lost, bleeding all over the muddy cobblestones; he'd barely lasted five minutes against the lieutenant of the Musketeers. Aramis shook his head. _What_ had the idiot been thinking - that he could actually win? Beside him, Porthos was already cackling with delight; Aramis himself didn't bother suppressing his smirk as the two Red Guards that had accompanied Jussac manhandled him back to safety, even as the _second_ Guard that had challenged Athos, an unnaturally tall, lanky man with an ugly sneer, advanced to take his place across the clearing.

Athos regarded the man with cool, opaque eyes, waiting; the man, as expected, took it as an invitation to launch his attack. With his long limbs, he had an unaccustomedly long reach; Athos met his advance with expected ease, the clash of steel ringing once more in the quiet of the night. He adjusted easily to his opponent's style, nothing more than a dip in his brow betraying renewed concentration; he twisted on his heel to get out of the way of a straight lunge, then slashed a cut on the man's leg with a flick of his arm. The man jerked, turning his stumble into an awkward twirl; Athos had to jump back to avoid being _accidentally_ stabbed. Taking another step sideways, he raised his sword again and waited politely for his opponent to resume his attack.

Aramis's smirk had begun to turn into a grin.

"Come on, Bouchard!" Jussac snapped from the side, clutching someone's balled sash to his wound, "This is taking too long! Run him through already!"

Athos canted his head with an arched eyebrow, lips curling down contemptuously.

Bouchard's sneer, if possible, turned even uglier as the Red Guard, from across the small distance that had opened between the duellers, re-launched himself onto Athos with renewed vigor. Despite himself, the sudden ferocity surprised even Athos as he met the man's violent strike.

"Tell me, Monsieur," he said loudly over the clash of metal, frowning as he pushed aside the man's blade with a twist of his own, faces close as the swords remained crossed for a moment, "Have _you_ anything against me personally?"

"Nah - I just don' - like Musketeer scum - in _general_ \- that's all."

With an indignant_ tsk!_, Athos shoved the man back again to regain space; between one blink and the next he'd tossed his sword from his right hand to left, and two seconds later, he'd run his rapier clean through the Red Guard's exposed side.

There was a loud gasp, a stumble and a final fall as the duellers stilled. A cry of rage from Jussac, angry shouts from the Red Guards; a whooping "Ha!" from Porthos as Aramis grinned from ear to ear, observing, even as Athos stood with one foot on his opponent's blade, gazing down unperturbedly. Two tight lines around his mouth, and a hint of perspiration on his brow were all the sign of having just defeated not one, but two Red Guards.

"Do you yield?" he inquired aristocratically, the tip of his rapier pressed onto the man's back. Bouchard moaned in response.

"In that case."

Stepping smoothly aside, the Musketeer lieutenant walked clear of his downed opponent's reach, looked down at his bloodied rapier distastefully, then proceeded to clean it with a cloth he pulled out of his pocket.

"Is it bad?" Aramis asked, not bothering to suppress his grin as he and Porthos walked by the Guards who were propping Jussac up. The man growled, managing only to broaden the marksman's smile.

"Be a gent, Aramis," Porthos said as they walked towards where Athos was waiting, "Give these poor, wounded men your poultice recipe. It works wonders, Jussac, believe me - what was it - olive oil.. lavender.."

"Rosemary," Aramis nodded sagely.

"Right, what else? Thyme?"

"It's not a salad, Porthos."

"Nah," the big man laughed as they finally reached Athos, "I'm jus' hungry."

"Drink would be nice," Athos opined, letting out a sigh as he sheathed his sword. He seemed bored, and perhaps irritated that the duels had wasted his time.

"When is it not?" Aramis returned amicably, sneaking his arm around his friend's shoulders to steer them all back towards the city. It was still early; celebration was in order and Aramis had just the tavern in mind.

A pistol shot ripped through the tenderness of the night.

A scream of pain as Athos jerked forward, Aramis's arm instinctively tightening around him to prevent his fall -

Porthos roared, drawing pistol and sword at the same time as he spun around-

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

"This is bad. This is bad. This is real bad-"

"Porthos!"

"Righ', sorry - what?"

"Come here, you need to hold him down!"

Under the light of the hastily-lit candles, Porthos looked almost as washed out as Athos.

"Alrigh'," he mumbled, moving to the other side of the bed, "alrigh'.."

"Athos. Athos, listen to me. Listen to me, my friend, yes, yes, that's it. I need to remove the ball from your shoulder. I am sorry, but you know we can't go to a surgeon; Doctor Duchamps would report to Tréville immediately and-" (Aramis's voice was _definitely_ not shaking, nor were his hands) "-and the captain can't hear about this. Do you understand?"

Athos only moaned, his back arching off from the bed.

"What do we do?" Porthos asked fearfully, "Aramis, what do we do?"

Taking a deep breath, Aramis pushed himself to his feet from the bedside. "Light a fire," he ordered, shrugging off his doublet and rolling up his sleeves, "I'll find water."

"What? No, _'e's_ _bleedin'!_" Porthos protested, gesticulating, "I'll see to the fire an' water - you come 'ere, stop this-"

"Right," Aramis shook his head as if to clear it, "Right, of course." He rushed back to Athos's side and reached down to undo the doublet buttons. "Athos, it would help a lot if you'd speak now."

"-say-what -"

"This is fine," Aramis returned with a tremulous smile, fumbling with less than steady fingers, "Can you stay still? I know it hurts like the devil, but I need to take the doublet off, I can't work around it."

"Cut the damn - thing -"

"Cut it? Surely you wouldn't cast off a perfectly fine doublet so easily."

"Aram-_is_-"

"Yes, right, sorry. First things first. Porthos, help me out here."

Soon enough, the already-less-than-perfectly-fine doublet had been removed, leaving Athos pale and panting in his ruined shirt; Porthos had gotten the fire going in the small hearth, and Aramis's _main gauche_ was strategically placed over the hearthstone, getting readied for the procedure all of them stubbornly refused to acknowledge up until it could no longer be denied.

Porthos had perched on the bed by Athos's hip, one hand resting lightly on his friend's leg, chewing on his bottom lip without pause.

"Right," Aramis said again uselessly as he reached to pull the dagger from the fire.

"Brand-," Athos panted weakly, good hand flopping on the mattress, "there's brandy -"

"Of course. Good idea." The brandy was procured and held to Athos's lips, but through the slits between his eyelids, Athos glared at Aramis.

"Drink it - you - need it-"

"Well, there's no use denying it," Aramis laughed nervously, then shot back the drink, swallowing with a grimace. He sighed contentedly before filling the cup again and helping Athos with it.

"Right..."

"Alrigh'," Porthos prodded quietly from across the bed, "Let's get on with this, eh?"

"Yes- please do-"

"Since you're all so eager," Aramis murmured, taking a deep breath and readying the cloths by his side,

Porthos gave Athos his own belt to bite on and grabbed his hand, getting ready to hold him down,

Athos, without realizing it, held on to Porthos's hand,

And Aramis began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one big (internal) inconsistency in there (that I'm aware of); I didn't fix it, simply because I wanted to write it that way. Taking all the liberties fanfiction allows a writer here..


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

"That was bad."

"It _is_ bad," Aramis confirmed exhaustedly. The night had deepened considerably; the two of them were sitting side by side across the hearth, leaning back against Athos's bed, their legs outstretched. The candles were extinguished, the orange-red tint of the fire was the only light.

"e's goin' to be fine though, right?"

"With God's grace," Aramis affirmed, rubbing at his fingertips with a piece of cloth and scrutinizing them, "We got the bullet out quickly enough."

"'e bled so much," Porthos said, craning his neck to look fearfully towards Athos.

"Yes," Aramis returned, voice clipped.

"Well.. No one's come knockin' on the door yet, so that's good."

"Word may have reached the garrison already."

"You reckon?" Porthos asked, turning to look at him worriedly, "This quickly? Nah.. I don' think so."

"If not now, it'll be heard sooner or later," Aramis said pragmatically.

"Do you think we killed 'em?"

"Do you mean to say you didn't intend to kill that Guard?" Aramis asked, turning to him with sudden ire, "I know _I_ did."

"'ey, I'm not arguin' with you. I'm just thinkin' - it'd be better for us if they'd... crawl into some hole to die, you know - rather than just dyin' _right there_, where they'll be quickly found."

"I don't know," Aramis murmured dejectedly. He threw the cloth in his hand on the floor, pulled one knee up and rested his elbow on it, hand dangling from his wrist. Then he turned to look at Porthos with a frown, as if he'd suddenly had a thought.

"You should not be here. I can't leave Athos, but you don't need to be here if anyone comes looking."

"As if I would," Porthos scoffed, offended, "What does it matter if I'm not 'ere - as soon as you an' Athos are caught, everyone'll know I'm involved."

"Of course they will, but at least you'll be free until the Captain finds a way to clear our names!"

"You're thinkin' he would, do you?"

Aramis fidgeted slightly, glancing away. "Of course. When he hears the truth of what's happened, he will understand. Jussac shot Athos; if there's a crime, _that's_ it." He grew angry again just by thinking of it.

"If 'e doesn't die of 'is wounds, I'm gonna strangle 'im meself for what 'e did to Athos," Porthos added menacingly, clenching his fists. "_Coward_."

"Perhaps this _will_ stay between us," Aramis mused, frowning thoughtfully again.

"'ow so?"

"The Red Guards are as guilty as us, if not more. They can't accuse us without giving themselves away, so perhaps they'll keep their mouths shut?"

"ow are they gonna explain their wounds?"

"That's not our problem, is it?"

"'ow are _we_ gonna explain Athos's wound?"

"Now that _is_ our problem," Aramis admitted, with another long-suffering sigh. "It is a pistol wound, so that's a plus. It doesn't correspond to a duel injury. We could come up with some suitable story."

"Yeah..." Porthos thought over it for a moment before shaking his head. "I don' think Athos would go for it, though. Bein' honorable an' all."

"If he has any sense...!"

"Hm, no, not right now 'e doesn'," Porthos mumbled, turning around to glance at their slumbering friend again. It finally drew out a chuckle from Aramis, and Porthos grinned.

Silence fell between them once again, the tame crackling of the fire claiming it in their stead. If there were a timepiece in the room, it would be edging its way steadily towards midnight.

"Duellin' is illegal," Porthos mumbled at length, chin resting on his knee.

"Hm-hm."

"An' we were duellin'."

"Athos and the Red Guards were," Aramis corrected, "But yes, we were involved."

"It is punishable by death. The king's made that very clear."

"We won't be hung," Aramis said conviction, "The captain won't allow it."

"We'll be puttin' 'im in a real bad spot," Porthos lamented miserably.

"It is what it is," Aramis said with resolve. "What's happened has happened, we can't change it. Even if the Guards keep silent now, Jussac still has to pay for what he's done. I, for one, would rather see him put on trial and made a mockery of - let everyone see what kind of men the Cardinal employs as his guards. Because otherwise,_ I'll_ have to challenge him to a duel and that'll put _me_ in a real bad spot!"

"There's just no gettin' round this, is there?" Porthos laughed sorrowfully.

"I don't think so, my friend," Aramis shook his head with a desperate chuckle of his own.

"Like you said though... It is what it is. Whatever 'appens now, we just 'ave to face it, right? The three of us? We'll face it together, like we always do. We're always fine when it's the three of us."

Aramis smiled softly, finding his own resolve strengthened by Porthos's faith. "That we are, my friend," he confirmed, turning fully to look at him. "All for one?"

"Yeah," Porthos agreed, "One for all." He nudged Aramis's shoulder with his own, then pushed himself up and dusted his pants. "Since that's sorted, let's get some shut-eye while we can, eh? I'm exhausted." 

He reached down to grab the bloodied cloths that had piled up with a grim line on his mouth and threw them into the fire.

"Aramis?"

"Yes?"

"Don' be angry, but.. Athos is really gonna be alrigh', right?"

"I'm praying for him, my friend.. I'm praying harder than I've ever done before."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Aramis came awake to the thoroughly creepy feeling of something crawling on his shoulder.

It took him a few long, disoriented moments to realize that it was Athos's hand, trying to wake him up where he had fallen asleep, sitting on the floor as he was. He scrambled to his feet and leaned over the bed, trying to peer at his friend unsuccessfully in the dark. The fire they'd lit had gone out.

"Athos?" he inquired, sensing no more movement from the bed, "Christ!" he mumbled, "A moment!" He groped blindly in the dark to coax a spark from the hearth, managed to light a candle and carried it over. The dull grey of pre-dawn was seeping in through the cracks of the shutter.

"My friend?"

"Water..." Athos whispered.

"Yes, here." Aramis helped him drink, noting with concern how weak Athos was. "How do you feel?"

"Are we... alright?"

Aramis looked around as if someone could have slipped in without them noticing during the night.

"So far," he affirmed, turning his eyes towards the window. "It must be an hour to dawn."

"Where are..."

"We're at your rooms, Athos. It was the closest; we had to see to your wound."

"You must.. go before light.."

"I fear it is too late," Aramis informed him, shaking his head, "We've already decided that we're not leaving you."

"You're being... fools.."

"That's the way you thank us? I'll give it to your lightheadedness. You really did bleed a lot."

"Aramis-" Distressed, Athos tried to reach for the marksman's wrist, managing only to catch his sleeve and tugging at it. Under the trembling light of the flame, sheer worry was dancing in his eyes. "Go. _Hide_. I'll deal with this-"

"How?" Aramis inquired, pulling the stool to sit down and picking up Athos's hand, then tucking it under the blanket when he found it cold. "You've been shot, Athos. How will you explain that? You can't tell the truth without admitting to breaking the law - you've opened _three_ holes in Jussac's hide."

"I'll find.. a way.. you don't need.. to be involved.."

Aramis smiled sadly. "You really must not be feeling well. My friend, for all we know, at least three of those guards may already be dead. Jussac ran, but you'd already run your sword through Bouchard; I don't think a man can recover from a wound like that. You may not remember it, but in my rage I skewered one of his friends, and Porthos shot the other one. As soon as the sun rises, their bodies will be discovered, and it won't take long before the trail leads to us." He shook his head again, adjusting the blanket around Athos. "There's no point in running."

Athos looked anguished.

"Then go," he pleaded, devastated by the idea of his friends losing their commissions, their _honour_, by being put on trial for murder, when all they'd done was to stand by his side. "Go to Tréville before it erupts! Be the first to inform him.. don't let him learn.. from others.."

"Now there's a point there," Porthos murmured from his chair in the corner of the room, where he'd awakened in the middle of the conversation and had been listening. Aramis looked from one of his friends to the other indecisively.

"Aramis, please!" Athos all but begged.

"Alright. You are correct, of course. We...will not sit here hiding like criminals, waiting to be arrested. We must go to the captain, of course..." He passed a trembling hand through his brow. He was surprised and greatly disturbed that neither himself nor Porthos had thought of this; neither of them would admit it, but they were all profoundly shaken by the unexpected turn of events.

"Go," Athos implored again, looking at them both as Porthos padded over to stand at Aramis's shoulder, "Tréville must learn.. before the cardinal."

"I will not leave - not until I know you're well," Aramis declared incontrovertibly, "Porthos, however, can and will."

Porthos looked rather put out at being decided for when he was standing right there, but did not object.

"Make for the garrison at first light," Aramis told him quietly, turning to look up in the stool. "Athos and I will remain here. If need be... we'll be found here." He left the _if we are to be arrested _unsaid.

Porthos squeezed his shoulder in reply.

"Good. Now that we have our plan, Athos, allow me to check that wound. I fear I've caused you much pain last night." He leaned over to peer beneath the bandages around Athos's chest, but Athos's hand rose abruptly to grip, this time, the front of his shirt. Their faces close, the swordsman seemed implacable.

"Aramis. In the name.. of our friendship.. if you have any regard.. for me at all.. you'll go. _Go_ to Tréville with Porthos."

Aramis blinked.

"We'll see," he amended after a moment of hesitation, once more guiding Athos's hand down. He then gently pushed his friend's hair back, placed the wet cloth Porthos handed him there, and they spoke of it no more.

* * *

A loud rap on the door startled them awake, making them react before they were even fully free of sleep. Porthos had his pistol in hand within moments and Aramis was standing before Athos's bed with his sword half-drawn. The sun had risen.

"Who's there?" Porthos bellowed, pistol aimed at the door.

"Porthos?" The voice from the other side of the wall sounded confused. "It's Pinchon - open up!"

Pinchon was a fellow Musketeer - not a Red Guard sent by the Cardinal to apprehend them. But Porthos would not give in easily.

"You alone?" he called out.

"What? Yes, I am alone - open the door."

Aramis signaled Porthos to fall back, pushed his sword back into its scabbard and strode over to open the door.

"Pinchon."

"Aramis," the Musketeer blinked in surprise, "You're here as well."

"As you see, my friend," Aramis returned smoothly. "What is this about?"

"Is Athos in? The captain's expecting you three at the garrison at once."

"I see." Aramis kept his expression carefully neutral. "Did he happen to say why?"

Pinchon looked surprised again. "Since when does the captain explain himself to us?"

"You are right, of course." Taking a deep breath, Aramis released it carefully. "Very well. We shall be on our way as soon as possible."

"Aramis," Pinchon said slowly, beginning to get suspicious, "I am to return with you three. Did you not hear me say the captain's expecting you at once?"

"Indeed, my friend, I did. However, you see.. Athos is not feeling well. We should like to make him comfortable before leaving to report to the garrison."

"Not well?" Now Pinchon's frown shifted into worry. "Is he ill?"

"He is... indisposed. Kindly tell the captain that Porthos and I will report to him in all haste, if you would. We will make our apologies to the captain ourselves."

"Very well. Tell Athos I hope he feels better soon," Pinchon added before turning to take his leave.

"I will."

Aramis closed the door, twirled slowly on his heel, and looked up to come eye-to-eye with Porthos.

"Great," Porthos said flatly, "We're too late. The cap'n already knows."

"We are not in chains," Aramis pointed out, "Pinchon seemed clueless. This summons can be about anything."

"Right. I admire your optimism, did you know that?"

"I do," Aramis returned with a forced grin, but it faded away quickly. He picked up his doublet and shrugged it on; regardless of this development, their course of action was unchanged.

"Athos?" he called out, strapping on his weapons belt as he walked around the partition wall that separated Athos's bed from the room, "I'm assuming you've heard all that. Porthos and I... " The words died on his lips when he found Athos sitting at the edge of the bed, holding onto the bed frame with a deathly grip, his face alarmingly white.

"It appears, gentlemen.. we _are_ too late," Athos murmured, voice frighteningly faint. "Let us be off. It won't do to keep.. the captain waiting."

"What are you..."

"Whoa, wait -"

"Don't be a fool - you can barely sit up in bed, you can't come to the garrison with us!"

"Good, you're _both_.. going then. Porthos, my doublet, please."

"You really shouldn'..." Porthos trailed off, looking deferringly at Aramis even as he slowly picked up and held the requested item towards Athos's outstretched hand, keeping it just out of reach. With a frustrated look, Athos made to reach for the garment, but regretted it immediately as he faltered and nearly fell sideways, a whine escaping him in the process.

"There you go!"

With a mix of frustration and worry, Aramis leaned to push Athos back on the bed, and Porthos, following suit, picked up the swordsman's feet and lifted them up in one swoop. With practiced ease they had their friend comfortably arranged in the bed within moments.

"Damn it," Athos whispered, leaving himself onto the pillows, having somehow turned even paler from the exertion.

"We'll go. Stay in bed. We'll send word about the verdict."

"If we're still breathin', that is," Porthos mumbled pessimistically, "in that case, I'm sure the Cap'n will send word."

With a sigh that made his shoulders drop, Aramis scratched the back of his head, shook his head from side to side, pulled on his hat to adjust it, and gave Athos one last, deeply contrite look.

"See you on the other side."

And exchanging one last glance, he and Porthos left to face their fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _That was a spare doublet, by the way.._   
_Thanks for reading, as always, and I'd love to hear your thoughts._


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

"I _pray_, for all our sakes, that _somehow_, this is not true."

Monsieur de Tréville, Captain of the King's Musketeers and the third most influential man in France -according to most-, stood with his hands planted on his desk, glaring at his two most troublesome Musketeers, who, upon his summons, had arrived moments ago, and were standing to attention.

"What is not true, Captain?" Aramis inquired politely.

"Don't play smart with me, Aramis, I have no patience for it. Were you or were you not dueling with the Cardinal's guards last night?"

"We were not, Captain," Aramis returned, _very_ carefully, staring ahead.

"You were not," the captain repeated, straightening his back and narrowing his eyes, "Am I to understand, then, that it weren't you three, but _other _three Musketeers who were dueling last night?"

"If I may, Cap'n," Porthos dared to speak, "where did you hear that Musketeers were duellin'?"

"Oh, you'd like to know where I've heard it, do you? I've heard it from the Cardinal himself, not one hour ago, when he did me the courtesy of _informing me __in front of the king_!"

Both men winced.

"Explain yourselves."

Aramis thought furiously while Porthos bit his lip. "We'd... like to 'ear the allegations first, if we may, Cap'n."

"The _allegation_, Porthos, is that you two and Athos were dueling the Cardinal's guards last night near the Carmes Deschaux. The _fact_, if you'd like to hear that as well, is that two of the Guards are dead, and another two are heavily wounded- one of them Jussac, a _lieutenant_ in their ranks."

"'Not dead then, is 'e?" Porthos mumbled to himself, his expression darkening, "_Good_."

"Indeed, I'd say it _is_ good! Now, for pity's sake, explain to me what in God's name you three were thinking?" In his rage, the captain did not seem to realize that he was, in fact, addressing not three, but two Musketeers.

"It was not of our doing, Captain," Aramis began, still polite but with some sign of anger of his own, "We were honoring the code of chivalry-"

"Chivalry?" the captain cut him off, "Explain to me the chivalry in breaking the king's law, Aramis. Explain to me," he said, anger suddenly infused with bitterness, "the chivalry in killing two of the Cardinal's men, leaving their bodies out in the open like that and _running, _like common criminals."

"Now wait a minute," Aramis began, color rising to his face as he turned to fully face the captain, "We did not _run_ \- we had to see to--"

"That ain' fair," Porthos protested at the same time, "If anyone were lackin' in chivalry, it was that Jussac-"

"I don't know what the Cardinal told you, but it was Bouchard who issued the challenge - what was Athos to do, decline? -"

"We couldn' as well go an' leave 'im alone with them Red Guards -"

"I was Athos's second, and, where we are, Porthos is, as you well know."

"That's right," Porthos affirmed staunchly, crossing his arms and looking at Tréville defiantly. The captain, frowning deeply, looked from one of them to the other, his gaze drilling in them as if he were trying to read their souls.

"What I do not understand," he said at length, sounding somewhat subdued as he leaned back against the desk, "is why you didn't come to me immediately. Gentlemen, we could have stopped this from getting out of hand. If I had known, I would have gone to the Cardinal myself - we could settle this between ourselves. The king would not need to know."

"We.. would have, Captain," Aramis replied, his fire gone out, and hung his head in shame, "Except, we..."

"Didn' think of it immediately," Porthos completed miserably.

"_Why?_"

Aramis shook his head, and the captain, trying to temper his impatience, breathed out through his nose.

"Four Red Guards," he stated, looking at them. "Bouchard challenged Athos, and he, naturally, accepted. You," he nodded at Aramis, "were his second, and you," he turned to Porthos, "went with them. I can see Athos beating any one of them in duel, but how on earth did _two_ guards end up dead and another two wounded?"

"We didn' start the fight," Porthos put resolutely, standing straight and tall, but speaking with a hint of plaintiveness, "Them bein' Red Guards, it...jus' got out of hand."

"It wasn't a fair fight," Aramis added in support, shaking his head and passing the back of his hand through his brow. He was beginning to feel stifled and uncomfortable; after the evening and night they'd had, he wanted the issue dealt with and their fate decided already.

"That much I gathered," Tréville glared, "Three against four? At least you managed to _win. _Trust me, gentlemen, were that not the case, the king might not even have granted me this opportunity to investigate! And for _God's_ sake," he changed track all of a sudden, looking around, "why am I talking to only the two of you - where is Athos?"

"He.. is not here," Aramis murmured absentmindedly, starting to feel a bit shaky.

"Your observation skills continue to astound," the Captain bit out acerbically. "_Where_ is he?"

"We left him in his rooms, but who knows?" the marksman asked, noting fearfully that he was close to unraveling but unable to stop, "Knowing him, he might as well be on his way here. Who in his right mind has ever said Athos knows what's best for him?"

Porthos slid him a concerned glance, and the captain's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Well, thank goodness," he said, crossing his arms with a hint of sarcasm of his own, "That, at least, is confirmation that he's alive."

Aramis looked up in surprise. "Was there any doubt?"

"Think, man!" Tréville retorted, "Would Jussac dare go to the Cardinal had he not believed Athos dead? Even a Red Guard can't be that much of a fool!"

Porthos smirked, but immediately sobered again under the captain's wrathful glare. Tréville turned once again to Aramis, trying to hold back his temper.

"He is wounded, I gather."

"I wouldn't say _wounded_," Aramis returned slowly, but it was Porthos who turned to him in disbelief.

"You wouln' say wounded- what would you call the state of 'im then?"

"I believe the word he is looking for is 'indisposed', Porthos," the captain supplied icily, "That's what you said to Pinchon when you sent him away, didn't you?"

"What would you have me say?!" Aramis exploded, throwing his arms out and suddenly dropping all pretense, "Yes, he was wounded, and we left him alone in his rooms to come here - unable to get out of bed or fend for himself, so weak he is! Captain," he made a valiant effort to get a grip on himself, "_Please_. Porthos and I are ready to face whatever punishment you see fit, but first let us-" A knock on the door interrupted him.

"Not now!" Tréville yelled, attention fully fixed on Aramis, but the door opened regardless and in walked Athos, dressed fully in uniform, impeccably armed and cloaked. His face was carefully composed, and if it weren't for his ghastly pallor, no one would suspect anything out of the ordinary.

"You _fool!_" Aramis fumed, recovering quickly and stalking forward to grab the swordsman's arm, "You are _not_ strong enough to do this, I told you to stay in bed- " But one look from Athos halted his step as well as his tirade.

"My apologies, Captain," Athos said calmly, removing his hat and standing casually to attention, "I came as quickly as I could." The faintness of his voice was horribly betraying his straight posture.

The captain himself appeared thrown off by his lieutenant's abrupt appearance. He gave Athos a long look-over before speaking. "What are you doing here?"

"I believe we've been summoned," Athos returned smoothly. Tréville found himself nodding absently.

"Are you wounded?"

"Yes, sir."

The captain blinked, and Aramis and Porthos looked at each other in disbelief.

"Not badly enough that you're not able to present yourself, I see." Tréville glanced over at Aramis, then shook his head in such a way that Aramis, at a loss, paled.

"Alright.." the captain sighed, rubbing his temples slowly before looking up at Athos again, "What do you have to say for yourself? And by God, Athos, I will strip you _all_ of your commissions if you try to play innocent with me."

"Aramis and Porthos have done nothing wrong. It was my doing, and I alone should face the consequences."

The captain waved his hand dismissively. "I already know Bouchard challenged you, Aramis was your second and Porthos was there."

"They were. But I alone was dueling. Bouchard challenged me over some bet with his friends. I challenged Jussac. Aramis and Porthos had nothing to do with it."

"Why would you challenge Jussac?" the captain asked in surprise, momentarily forgetting his annoyance, but a minute straightening of Athos's shoulders was the only answer he received. Understanding that he was not going to get another word from the swordsman on the matter, he glanced at the two other Musketeers, but Aramis shook his head, and Porthos shrugged. They were none the wiser.

"Well, gentlemen," Tréville sighed again, looking as if he'd aged ten years in the past two hours, addressing all three, "You're not making much of a case for yourselves. It seems I have no choice but to go before his Majesty and inform him that not only his Musketeers were indeed dueling-" he raised a hand to stop Athos when he took a breath to interrupt him - "but also that it was none other than my _own_ lieutenant who issued the challenge against that of the Cardinal." He shook his head, looking at Athos with sorrow and disappointment. "This is not how I'd have expected you to distinguish yourself. Especially not so soon after your appointment."

"No, this is wrong - Athos acted with nothing but honour - "

"This isn' on Athos - why aren' we talkin' of what _Jussac_ did - so honourable _'e_ was-"

"Jussac?" Tréville frowned, "What did _he_ do?"

But it was at that moment that a soft noise from Athos diverted their attention, making them all turn to look. Whatever little color there had been on Athos's face was completely gone, and he seemed moments away from collapsing.

"Athos? _Mon Dieu_, as if I don't have enough to deal with..!" The captain walked hastily around his desk, pulled a chair and glared at Athos's trembling legs.

"Sit before you fall over," he ordered annoyedly. Athos blinked as if he'd not comprehended the order, breathing through slightly parted lips, staring ahead unseeingly; Aramis surged forward and took his friend's arm.

"Athos," he prodded more softly, "sit."

"Aramis-?"

"Yes, it's alright - Porthos?"

Porthos immediately drew the swordsman's arm over his shoulder, crossed the few steps easily and deposited him gently in the chair.

"_Idiot_,_" _the captain muttered, frowning worriedly, "How serious is this? Do we need the surgeon?"

"I would be grateful, sir," Aramis returned with immense relief even as he pushed aside the cloak and began undoing Athos's doublet, "I did my best but..."

"Du Galland! Fetch Monsieur Duchamps immediately! Do not return without him!"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Athos? _Sang Dieu_..."

By now, Porthos was hovering beside the crouching Aramis, worrying his bottom lip as he watched Athos's increasingly limp form, looking truly scared; the captain walked around to push his desk back and made room for himself on Athos's other side.

"Aramis?"

"He shouldn't have come. I told him to stay in bed; he's lost too much blood. I don't even know how he managed to get here- I was joking, you know, when I said he could be coming here-"

"That's alright. What do you want to do?" His anger was carefully folded and put aside in the face of Aramis's worry and Athos's state.

"I want to get a look at the wound, but he _had_ to dress up, do all these buttons-"

"'e can't be too bad since 'e did all the buttons," Porthos suggested feebly from behind, sounding hopeful, but Aramis cast him such a dirty glare that he immediately shut up.

"Damn it, Athos," Aramis whispered hopelessly when he finally managed to pull aside the doublet, revealing Athos's shirt heavily saturated with blood. Tréville had risen and moved away, now loudly opening and closing cabinet lids, before returning to crouch again, holding out a pile of cloths and bandages.

"Let's take this off of him."

They removed Athos's doublet, their worries ricocheting upon his unnatural docileness, and Aramis peeled away the bloodied bandage. He hissed and grimaced at what he found. The captain passed him a pad of cloth to press onto the wound.

"Sword or pistol shot?" he inquired as they worked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Pistol."

"The ball's removed?"

"Messily," Aramis confirmed tightly.

"What of his arm? Is there any danger to the limb?"

Aramis huffed through his nose. "That is for the surgeon to say."

The captain's hand clenched tightly around the back of the chair before he rose to his feet.

"Porthos." He curtly beckoned the Musketeer to approach. "Let's take him to the bed. He'll be more comfortable lying down."

They carefully lifted and transported Athos to the captain's bed. The morning light from the window only served to make him look that much worse.

"It's still bleeding," Aramis murmured into the tense silence that had settled. At the foot of the bed, the captain tipped his head back and ran a hand down his face.

"Answer me directly, Aramis, I want no more of your blithering. Who did this to him?"

"It was Jussac," Aramis returned bitterly, cursing the name.

"What happened?"

"The duel was over," Porthos took over, glowering darkly, "Athos 'ad won, of course - it was too easy for 'im. We were walkin' away when that bastard shot 'im in the back."

"He-" Tréville's eyes widened in shock, not believing what he was hearing. One moment later, his face began to turn red.

"The Cardinal will hear of this. The _king_ will hear of this. Stay here with him," he ordered Aramis, turning to grab his cloak and sword-belt. "Porthos, with me. I want the _entire_ truth, not one detail skipped - is that understood?"

"Aye, Captain," Porthos nodded sheepishly. The captain pulled the door open, but paused to look over Aramis and Athos one more time.

"_Be_ here when I return. And that is an order."

"Yes, Captain."

With that, the captain turned and stalked out, slamming the door close behind him, making the entire building shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Apologies for the tardiness - it's been a difficult couple of weeks. Only an epilogue left now, with a surprise appearance.._


End file.
